


It's Cool for the Summer

by TroubleIWant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Break Up-Make Up, But mostly just sex, Feels, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Oblivious Stiles, PWP, Pining, Rimming, and minor angst, but with a twist!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:03:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6778729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TroubleIWant/pseuds/TroubleIWant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is absolutely sure about who he's spending the rest of his life with, even though she kind of maybe broke up with him before her summer abroad. He's still going to win her back. This fuck-buddies thing with Derek is just to pass the time.</p><p>OR</p><p>“So, this was great,” Stiles forces out, "But I’m not really looking for a repeat, even, and definitely not more. It isn't you, honestly, but I want to be clear that this was not a date, there will be no dates for us in the future, none of that.”<br/>Derek, thankfully, interrupts him with a wave of his hands. “Woah, no. Absolutely, me neither. I’m sure you’re a great guy and all, and this was fun, but,” Derek breaks off to laugh ruefully. “I just got out of an engagement, I’m definitely not looking for anything, either.”<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Cool for the Summer

* * *

 

It’s been two weeks, one day and five hours since Stiles’ entire world imploded. He’s still reeling; they were supposed to be forever. Yet here he is, single. Solitary. Alone. No matter how you put it, the concept is a sickening emptiness in the center of his chest that threatens to sweep him away. Their relationship hadn’t been perfect, but it had been everything he wanted. He thought that was the point, accepting the difficulties and rough edges of being with a person as much as the easy, fun stuff. Wasn’t love like theirs supposed to last through thick and thin?

Months ago, he’d happily told Scott to take Isaac to Europe instead of him, and that’s what had happened. Of course, back then he’d had plans of couples’ getaways and romantic dinners, which are now off the table. Marathoning Lord of the Rings and eating ice cream with his best bro would go a long ways to mending his broken heart, but Scott and Isaac left three days ago. Phone calls aren’t the same, as much as Scott’s been trying.

“I can’t believe this is really happening,” Stiles says, for the fourth time. “We’re meant to be, I know we are! But no matter what I say, it’s like it’s. Not. Getting. Through.” He punctuates each word with a vicious kick to the bike rack outside the library.

Scott makes an understanding noise. “Stiles, I know you don’t wanna hear this right now, but... Maybe you have to accept that it’s over? A relationship isn't a democracy. If the other person wants out, that’s just what it is.” Stiles winces, thinking of Scott’s tortured off-and-on-again with Allison.

“I get that, Scott. But letting go is not an option for me, okay? I’m talking about my soulmate, here. The hottest, smartest, funniest person I’ve ever met in my entire life. Do you know how hard I worked for us to be a real couple after all those years of _maybe_ and _I’m not right for you_ and _we can’t_? I won’t accept that it’s just over. Not because of something this stupid.”

“I mean, being in different countries for over a year is kind of a big deal,” Scott says carefully.

“Spring break! Christmas, long weekends!” Stiles argues. “There’s plenty of time to visit, plus skype and texting. Fuck, I’ll write love letters longhand and send them by carrier pigeon if that’s what it takes. I’m not just moving on, Scott. I can’t. There’s exactly one person for me, in the world, and long distance isn’t gonna change that.”

“Look, it’s almost one AM, I have to go,” Scott sighs. “Your life isn’t over, okay man? Maybe this is actually a good chance for you to branch out a little. I mean, you’ve been into the same person since high school, a little experimentation couldn’t hurt. Have you ever heard the phrase “getting under someone to get over someone”? You should give that a try.”

“No,” Stiles says decisively. “I’m never going to get over Lydia Martin.”

 

* * *

 

 

Boyd’s bar is just the right amount of divey for Stiles, but Lydia had never wanted to go with him. He’d resented it at the time, but the silver lining is that it’s one of the few spots in town free of memories. Stiles can take some solace in that, but he’s still moping his way through his third G&T, slouching ever farther over the sticky bar with his cheek propped on his hand, explaining to Boyd in between him serving other customers exactly why he and Lydia could have made long distance work despite her doing a year abroad.

“How could she break up with me in advance?” he demands, near tears. “In advance, Boyd!”

“Stop,” Boyd says firmly. “Please stop talking to me about this.”

“I can’t. I’m _heartbroken_.” The whine in Stiles’ voice is probably unflattering, but he’s too tipsy to care. So what if it's been over and done for weeks? It still hurts.

Boyd rolls his eyes. “Hows about this, you go sit on _that_ end of the bar,” he points helpfully, “where you and Derek can talk each other’s ears off about your terrible breakups, and leave me out of it.”

“Wait, him too?” Stiles leans way over the bar to gawk. Stiles is surprised that someone who looks like a michelangelo statue can even _get_ broken up with, and that weirdly makes him feel better about his own situation. The two of them aren’t exactly friends, but since Scott and Isaac started hanging out Sophomore year, they've seen each other at parties and such. Derek’s graduated a couple years ago and works as a paralegal or something, Stiles thinks. He’s been with the same woman since they were introduced, some blonde. Kay or something. Weren’t they engaged?

To be fair, that’s way rough. Maybe even more so than what happened with Lydia, hard as that is to fathom. Stiles slips off of the stool and walks over to Derek’s end of the bar with only a little weaving. Derek blinks up at from a glass of brown liquor, recognizing Stiles but apparently having trouble placing him.

“I hear that you are in the been-dumped dumps,” Stiles says bluntly, with a confidence he’d never manage completely sober. “Me too, buddy, me too. Stiles, Scott’s friend.” He adds helpfully as he squirms up onto the stool next to Derek. Derek’s confusion slips away, and he bobs his head sadly. Stiles nods back and then toasts his glass sloppily. “Here’s to being alo-one.”

Derek toasts him back in solidarity. “Fuckin’ sucks,” he says. His voice is lighter than Stiles remembers, even with the rough burr of too much drink. “No matter how much I think about it, doesn’t make sense.”

“Right? Lydia, my girlfriend, _ex-girlfriend_ I mean, she broke up with me in _advance_. Got a yearlong internship overseas and didn’t think we’d do well long distance, so that’s that. Didn’t even wait until she left, broke up weeks before. How is that fair?”

“It is not,” Derek says decisively. “Kate and I, we’d picked out flowers. Three days ago she was fussing about what shade of purple because they had to match the wedding colors exactly, and now she _never loved me_?”

“Damn, that’s cold,” Stiles commiserates. “Like, next level fucked up.”

“Thank you,” Derek says with genuine appreciation. “Yours too. Deserve a chance.”

“Thank you,” Stiles says gratefully back. Suck it Boyd, Derek understands his pain.

They get another round on Derek, and then one on Stiles, working their way meanderingly through the various indignities of their relationships and the failures there of. They recount anecdotes, pet peeves, all the while leaning in closer and closer until Stiles almost falls off his seat making a bit too vigorous of a gesture.

He catches himself in time, but still ends up right in Derek’s space, blinking up at him close enough to kiss. The man, it must be said, has pretty eyes. Like, really pretty bright hazel-green eyes rimmed in black lashes any girl would be proud of and hello mostly-forgotten bisexuality.

Derek licks his lips, looking at Stiles’. Like he’s checking Stiles out, or something, and hell if that isn’t a balm against the sting of Lydia’s dismissal. Being wanted by someone like Derek without even trying for it is beyond flattering. The guy’s not the type Stiles can see himself in a relationship with, but he’s fucking hot and probably a good guy if Boyd likes him. For Stiles, heartbroken and a little drunk, that’s more than enough. He’s just taking Scott’s advice, right? Anyways, if Lydia’s so sure they’re better off apart, then Stiles can show her. He’s gonna get all the hot one night stands, and see how she feels about _that_.

“Eh hem,” says Boyd, eyeing the minimal distance between them. “Closing time.”

Derek sighs and nods, signing the offered receipt and pocketing his card as Stiles does the same. They wander out together, a new tension buzzing between them. Outside, among the smokers and the lingering regulars, Derek’s eyes turn back to Stiles, hooded and full of intent. “Split an Uber home?” he offers.

“Sure,” Stiles says, cold night air sharp and invigorating in his nose. His blood is buzzing, and for the first time in more than a month being single isn’t seeming like such a burden.

 

* * *

 

 

They do share an Uber, but they don’t exactly split it, because there’s only one stop. Stiles’ back slams against his apartment door with Derek nuzzling at his neck like it’s made of something delicious, like _doughnuts_ or something, and Stiles is trying to see how much of Derek’s body he can get his hands on at the same time. The answer is, disappointingly, not all of it.

Derek shifts and reaches down to cup Stiles through his jeans, and he ruts into it like a teenager, torn between the discomfort of mashing his hardon into his zipper and the delicious pressure of Derek’s warm hand. They’re kissing, sloppy and desperate, and when Derek nuzzles back down Stiles’ jaw to his neck (doughnuts!) Stiles takes the opportunity to gasp in the spicy male scent of Derek’s cologne, clutching at hard muscle of his upper arms through his unbearably sexy leather jacket. It’s unfamiliar and heady, and if he wasn’t 110% turned on before, he’d be there now. He gets his hands under the collar of the jacket encourages Derek to shrug it off. He’s only wearing a thin tee below it, and Stiles skates his fingers over the recently exposed arms with even more appreciation.

Derek groans stumbles them back the few yards to Stiles’ bedroom. They hit the sheets together, writhing against each other’s bodies until their remaining clothes become too frustrating and they’re forced to separate so they can squirm out of them. Stiles gets free first while Derek is still adorably struggling with his boots, jeans already around his knees but not coming off over the shoes. Stiles has to giggle, and Derek stops what he’s doing to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, too. He gives up on the laces and just yanks the shoe off along with his jeans, and then they’re both naked.

Stiles bites his lip, trying to drink in all the muscular glory of Derek’s sixpack and thighs for later jerk off sessions, but he’s never really been one to delay his pleasure. He tugs Derek back down on the bed and rolls over him, body to body. It feels amazing to touch and be touched like this, all that skin contact down his chest and the firm muscles under his hands.

Derek rolls Stiles onto his stomach and kneels over him, bracketing his hips. Unable to see exactly what he’s doing, Stiles can still feel eyes on him, the weight shifting on the bed. He shivers with desire, can’t help but imagine all the ways he wants to be fucked tonight. Derek runs a hand over his ass appreciatively, kneading and squeezing as he kisses down Stiles’ neck and spine.

“Can I eat you out?” he asks, his voice rough with alcohol and desire. Stiles feels his dick jump against the sheets.

“Uh, wow. If you’re actually into doing that, I am more than good with letting you.” It’s a relief Derek can’t see his blush as he cants his hips up, spreading his legs needily in anticipation.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, exactly, but Derek diving in and going for it with gusto isn’t it. Inhibitions nowhere to be seen, he rims Stiles with the same enthusiasm as he’d kissed him earlier - as if his butt is _doughnuts too_. Stiles may still be a little drunk, come to think of it.  The room is spinning and he’s fuzzily light headed, and the feeling of Derek’s tongue is practically a religious experience. He pushes back into Derek’s face, reveling in the burn of beard and hot wetness. The mental image of Derek going to town on him is arousing to the point he needs to think of other things before he comes just from just this sensation.

“Holy _fuck_ dude,” Stiles pants. “Whoever broke up with you is -”

“Kate,” Derek comes up to offer helpfully.

“- _Kate_ is a fucking _idiot,_ Jesus, if there were olympic medals for this kia-aahh-oahfgh. Nnnfff,” he stutters off ingloriously into his pillow as Derek does this amazing thing with his tongue (and maybe a finger?) and basically short circuits Stiles’ brain.

“Yeah?” Derek says, all smugly, with a smug little squeeze of Stiles’ butt to match.

“Oh my God, shut up,” Stiles groans, rolling over on his back and throwing a forearm over his face to hide his blush.

“Make me.”

“You 100% know that I’m gonna say “with my dick?” don’t you? You have to know that’s the only possible response.”

Derek smirks. “It’s what I was angling for.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles says again, but he gets a hand in Derek’s hair and shuts him up all the same.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles feels surprisingly OK about the world the morning after, especially considering how much they drank and how little they slept. He hates that Lydia’s not the one beside him, of course, but he’s still pretty pleased with the view. There’s miles of smooth, tanned skin, muscles defined in places Stiles didn’t know you could even get definition, plus bedhead and that sexy tattoo. As a package it’s just… _damn_ , nicely done self. He squirms deeper into the covers, bouncing a bit more than probably necessary.

“God, you’re perky,” Derek mumbles accusingly, squinting up at him. There’s a crease on his cheek from Stiles’ pillows.

Stiles laughs. “Not usually, I promise. Almost forgot how much I love being fucked, is all. That was great.”

Derek comes a bit more fully awake at this, a slow smile creeping across his perfectly symmetrical face followed by an equally slow blink. Stiles’ mouth is dry. How can someone make blinking look like sex?

“Yeah?” Derek says twitching a smug eyebrow and glancing down at Stiles’ morning wood

“God, yeah,” Stiles sighs. He dives in and mashes their mouths together for a deep, filthy kiss, already groping for Derek’s cock. If they were together he would be embarrassed about morning breath, but they’re just hooking up, so whatever. Stiles has always been a bit of a serial monogamist (Lydia-sexual as Scott puts it) and this whole one night stand concept is so _freeing_.

Stiles makes the amazing discovery that, while Derek is a decently athletic and thorough top, he's a mind blowingly responsive bottom. Who knew? In any case, Stiles is very pleased that he's getting the chance to repay last night’s favors.

“Yeah?” he says smugly into Derek's ear after eliciting a particularly loud moan, pleased to have turned the tables. But Derek just says ’yeah’ back, breathy and honest. Stiles’ hips twitch of their own volition; It's even better than the competitive repartee Stiles was expecting.

They finish within seconds of one another and collapse at odd angles on the bed, exhausted, limbs flung over one another with the familiarity of years rather than hours. It feels amazing; the sun is creeping in, and Stiles is afterglowing so hard he thinks he hears birds chirping Disney tunes rather than the usual traffic. But his stomach growls, Derek shifts out from under him, and his leg starts tingling because at some point it fell asleep.

Stiles comes back to himself enough to feel weird about his dick hanging out now that they're not getting busy, and shuffles around for his boxers, shaking feeling back into his leg. While he pulls them on, Derek shrugs into last night’s pants as well. Stiles sneaks a look - they’re crumpled and must smell like a bar, but he’s making them look good.

He turns back to Stiles and smiles awkwardly, smoothing his palms over his thighs. “Well,” he starts and then trails off.

“So, this was great,” Stiles forces out, and then he can’t stop the rest of his thoughts falling all out of his mouth: “But I’m not really looking for a repeat, even, and definitely not more. It isn't you, honestly, but I want to be clear that this was not a date, there will be no dates for us in the future, none of that. And I know we didn’t talk about it beforehand, and I’m sorry if it came across like…”

Derek, thankfully, interrupts him with a wave of his hands. “Woah, no. Absolutely, me neither. I’m sure you’re a great guy and all, and this was fun, but,” Derek breaks off to laugh ruefully. “I just got out of an _engagement_. I’m definitely not looking for anything, either.”

“Exactly,” Stiles agrees, relieved. “I mean, Lydia’s off in Europe for the moment and I respect that she wants to take a break. But, she’s the love of my life. When she comes home, I’m going to win her back. There’s no world in which I don’t end up with her, you know?”

“Of course. I mean, I don’t want anything to do with _my_ ex, but you should absolutely get the girl. From what you said it sounds like you two are a great pair.”

“I am so glad we’re on the same page,” Stiles says, passing Derek his shirt, which had fallen behind his bed at some point.

“Yeah,” Derek smiles, pulling it over his head. “Uh, this won’t be weird, will it? I mean, we have mutual friends…”

“No way,” Stiles says emphatically. “We’re bros, it’s cool.”

Derek smiles at him then winces as he moves to the door and light from the window hits his face. “Ugh, how hung over do I look? I have to meet my mom for lunch.”

“On a scale of one to ten, maybe a seven,” Stiles admits sympathetically. “You wanna get coffee before you go? I know this great place right at the corner.”

Derek shrugs and pulls a face that Stiles takes to mean _couldn’t hurt_. He bends to pick his jacket up from where it landed next to the door (Stiles has a flashback of palming that firm ass and purposefully pushes it aside) and shrugs it on, raising an eyebrow to ask if Stiles is coming. He’s apparently much more taciturn sober.

Stiles jams his feet into his sneakers, mashing the backs down. Lydia’d hated it when he ‘ruined his shoes like that’, but Derek doesn’t even notice. Not that Stiles is critiquing Lydia and his relationship, of course. He loves that she’s so fastidious and put together. It’s just nice to let it all hang loose some times, too.

“You’ll get to see what exciting name they make up for my cup today,” he says as he pulls on a sweatshirt. “Biles is a favorite, but I’ve also gotten Styles with a y, ‘smiles’ a few times, and even Scott once? Which was just, like, was the barista even _listening_?”

Derek laughs at that, and they keep chatting amiably on the way over. The conversation keeps flowing easily through coffee - though admittedly, it’s mostly Stiles blurting out everything that comes into his head and Derek reacting to it. After so long without Scott, it’s really nice to be able to talk to someone. Derek heads off for lunch with his family, and Stiles goes about his weekend not moping for the first time in ages. Scott is some kind of break up savant, Stiles has to admit. This one night stand thing? He’s going to declare it an absolute singledom success.

 

* * *

 

 

Not quite a three months later, deep in the heat of August, Stiles still thinks of that hook up as an absolute success, even though it’s wound up being less of a one night stand and more of a “most of the summer” stand. He will gladly admit, though, that being fuckbuddies with Derek is the best decision he’s ever made. He’d gone on dates with plenty of other people, trying to get Lydia off his mind or out of his system, but it was hard to fake interest and even harder to convey what he wanted from them: just a few casual dates, maybe sex, no real future, just a distraction. And frankly, they just weren’t as good looking or interesting to be around as Derek, so each one fizzled out without any satisfaction.

And amazingly, Derek was having the exact same problem despite that whole sculpted by Michelangelo thing. Maybe still too gunshy after Kate. He’d apparently had a good enough time with Stiles though, so it had been easy to fall into bed again after a party at Boyd’s that they both attended. And then there was a third time when they ran into each other at the gym, and Stiles just caved and texted Derek for the fourth time the next weekend. Now they have an agreement to hook up whenever they’re both free and in the mood, which is amazing. All the sex, Stiles thinks, and none of those unnecessary feelings that might have complicated his future with Lydia.

Today they’re lying naked and postcoitally sweaty, and Stiles is reveling in the deep satisfaction of being well and truly fucked. It’s a Sunday and neither of them have anywhere to go, so they’ll probably spend the rest of the afternoon hanging out. They do it often enough, and he considers suggesting they grab dinner later at San Tung or something. Parks and Rec is playing in the background, an episode they’ve both already seen. Stiles is half paying attention, half just daydreaming. Even though he’s not really listening to the jokes, he smiles every time Derek whuffs a laugh into his shoulder from behind, where he’s spooning Stiles and watching over his shoulder.

Derek’s hand is tracing nothing patterns on his hip, familiar and not-quite-ticklish. It’s slow and sensual, but barely noticable really. Stiles is so chilled out he’s practically napping. The touch winds him up so slowly that he doesn’t quite know that it’s happening, not until he’s squirming with half-identified want.

“Nnh, fuck.” He twists so Derek’s knuckles brush his cock and instantly becomes aware of how horny he’s gotten. “You wanna go again?”

“Thought you were tired,” Derek protests, but his hand starts moving with more intent, and the tone in his voice means he’s turned on, too. After this long, Stiles can tell.

“I _am_.” He scoots his butt back, against Derek’s hardon. “But we don’t even have to move much. Just like this?”

“Mm,” Derek hums. He shifts closer, sets his mouth at the sweaty junction of Stiles neck, kissing wetly, half teeth as he lines up.

Stiles still loose from before, as Derek can no doubt tell when he slips his fingers experimentally around Stiles’ rim. He slicks his cock up with the lube helpfully left on the nightstand, a sloppy hot mess of fingers and the head of his cock pressing at Stiles’ entrance. Stiles tries not to be impatient, but his own dick is almost painfully hard at this point. Derek starts working the tip of his cock into him with tiny, shallow thrusts, hands wandering to Stiles nipples, ribs, everywhere. The hot line of contact down his back should be gross and overheated, but it only feels like he’s melting in the best way.

Then Stiles’ mind is entirely focused on the sensation of Derek’s cock dragging against his rim. The angle is all off for fucking, even as tightly as they’re pressed together, and Derek going tortuously slow. Stiles world shrinks down to the easy slide of his cock, the shallow friction of his thrusts blending with his caresses into one heady feeling that’s of a piece with all the lazy heat of the afternoon. Derek’s going so slow and carefully that there’s barely a hint of the usual stretch. It’s perfect and tortuous, and Stiles is going to lose his mind if Derek doesn’t go harder soon, go deeper or faster, _something_.

Derek’s breath hitches, his fingers tightening on Stiles hip. He gasps out a breathy little curse on the next thrust that has Stiles’ dick pulsing with arousal, impossibly harder at the thought of Derek getting off on what they’re doing just as much as Stiles, losing that solid control that Stiles is so familiar with now.

“Der,” Stiles half whines, half gasps, and Derek groans a wordless answer. It seems he’s finally fed up with the limitations of the position, too, because he rolls them over and bears down firmly on top of Stiles. With the new angle he instantly hits deeper, nailing Stiles’ prostate. Stiles cries out in satisfaction, shoves back into the sensation. Derek gives up on any semblance of patience or control, then, bracing his hand on the headboard to give himself the leverage to thrust faster and more deeply. It’s rough, needy, animalistic. _Finally_.

Stiles feels like he’s losing time, getting out of his head and fully inhabiting each nerve ending of his body; his knees on the dampening sheets, his burning lungs and thighs, the slap of skin on his ass and the strange, indescribable pleasure of being filled. It’s easier to hover on the delicious crest of orgasm since he’d come earlier, easier to last past the point he would normally have tumbled over the edge. The sensations build into something even more intense, more all-consuming, until it’s too much and he lets go. For a long moment he’s on top of that wave, almost whiting out was he empties onto the sheets, but he’s not so far gone that he can’t feel Derek shudder to a finish inside him a moment later.

They tremble through the aftershocks frozen in place, then slump onto the sheets, slowly experimenting with moving again in bodies that feel new. Something very much like joy settles into Stiles’ chest.

“We should do this forever-r-r,” he groans, rolling into the ‘r’ as he stretches his arms above his head and writhes into the bed as Derek lazily grabs a few tissues for a perfunctory clean up. “You want ice cream? I’m getting ice cream.”

He glances over to check for the inevitable eyebrow response, but Derek is just staring at him. His expression just looks... Weird. It’s an blank half-smile, accompanied by a thousand yard stare, and Stiles has no idea what it means. Which frankly feels very strange, because Derek’s face has basically become an open book to him. Only this time, can’t pin down the look at all.

“Whats up?”

Derek startles, and shakes his head with a theatrical shrug as if he has no idea what Stiles is even referring to. It’s not particularly convincing, and now Stiles is curious.

“Hey, I know we’re rebound fuckbuddies and all, but you can talk to me,” Stiles says earnestly, prodding Derek’s arm. He’d thought that was clear. They’ve talked about Kate and the engagement, about Lydia, about Stiles’ mom even. Actually, now that he thinks about it they’ve talked about almost all of the pretty heavy stuff. With Scott gone, Derek’s sort of his best friend. It’s a weird thought, but not as scary as maybe it should be. Whatever happens with the hooking up, he knows they’ll be fine. Derek’s just… Derek.

Derek smiles, just as fake as the shrug. “Ah. Maybe later.” He glances away and then back at Stiles, and swallows. His expression is still oddly nervous, but at least his smile has gone genuine, so Stiles lets it go.

“Okay. So, no ice cream? Your loss.”

“Not worth the extra reps at the gym,” Derek says, slapping his dumb perfect abs.

“Whatever,” Stiles yells from the kitchen, “I think you burned a scoop and a half just now, buddy. At least.” He spoons a generous helping into his bowl and sticks the carton back in his freezer. “Oh, right, I meant to to ask you. Wanna go see Wonder Woman next week with me and Scott, when he gets back?” The last part of the question is garbled around a spoon of Rocky Road, so Stiles assumes that’s why Derek doesn’t answer right away. But when he shuffles back into the bedroom, he realizes it's not the reason. It's because Derek is looking at Stiles’ phone.

“Sorry,” Derek says, looking up guiltily. “I thought it was mine when it buzzed and I...” He holds it out to Stiles. “It’s Lydia.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles squawks. He reaches for it, realizes his hands are full, shoves the spoon in his mouth, and finally takes the phone in his free hand. The little bubble from ‘Lydia, love of my life’ reads, “Hi Stiles, got back yesterday and wanted to catch up. Let me know when you’re free?”

“She wants to talk with me,” he tells Derek, unnecessarily, probably, since he must have read it when he accidentally picked up the phone. Stiles can’t think straight. He can’t believe it. After all that radio silence she wants to talk! The day she gets back, no less! He’d actually forgotten this was the date of her visit. How could he have forgotten?

“So, good news?” Derek asks.

“I think so?” Stiles laughs incredulously. “What do I text back?” He can’t just start typing and then delete and correct it like five times, that looks desperate. “How about, _sounds great, how’s Tuesday? Looking forward to seeing you, winkey face_ , is that okay?”

“Sure,” Derek says, but he doesn’t sound sure at all.

Stiles worries at his lip with his teeth. “It’s too much with the winky face, isn’t it? But kind of platonic without? I don’t want her to think that…”

“If she wants to get back together, she’s not going to change her mind because of a winky face.”

“Okay, okay, geeze,” Stiles says. He guess it makes sense that Derek’s snippy and impatient. He doesn’t know what it’s like, having to work at wooing someone. He’s so perfect everyone he wants probably falls right into his lap. Stiles types out the message, agonizes about the emoji for a second, and then sends it off as is.

They sit frozen like that for a minute and then two. No typing bubbles appear. Stiles suddenly wonders if he should have texted her back so quickly, if it makes it seem like he's been twiddling his thumbs all summer waiting for her. It feels like they're back in highschool, him waiting for her on tenterhooks, imagining her scorn, or worse, her utter indifference. He stares at the screen, wishing for some kind of sign.

“I should get going,” Derek says. Stiles looks up to find he’s got his boxers on already, and is searching for his pants. Stiles feels bereft not saying a proper goodbye to that ass. Derek knows he likes to do that.

“Aw, episode’s not even done,” he whines. Not that they've been watching, but still. The principle of the thing.

“Yeah, sorry, just,” Derek sighs, runs a hand through his sex hair. “I’ve got some things to do before Monday. So.” He tugs his shirt, on flattening his just-fluffed hair.

“Okay. Sure,” Stiles says uncertainly. He isn’t sure what’s up with the guy - he assumed they were going to hang out all day, and even if they’re not, Derek still owes him at least proper goodbyes. He’s trying to work out a way to say that so it doesn’t sound needy - they’re not in a relationship after all - when his phone buzzes. He looks down to see Lydia’s reply agreeing to Tuesday and suggesting a time and place.

“We have a plan!” he crows, but when he looks up, Derek’s already out the door. Considering he’s just confirmed his second chance with the love of his life, it feels weirdly anticlimactic.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles spends all of Tuesday in a nerve-jangling mix of anticipation and dread. He loves Lydia, he reminds himself. He’s going to win her back and then… something. Then his real life begins again, he guesses? The weird part is how hard it is to imagine being with Lydia again. The weird part is that it feels like moving backwards. The weird part is that there’s one obvious result of him and Lydia getting back together that Stiles doesn’t let himself think about.

Anyways, the weirdness is probably because she still has nine months abroad, he thinks. They can’t really be together until then.  It wouldn’t be the worst idea to plan on getting together when she gets back, rather than all the skype and pining, would it?

When he finally comes to the Starbucks on 9th and sees her sitting there, waiting for him, it’s like the breath leaves his lungs. Despite all his hesitations, the feelings are still there, then. She looks good, put together as always, but softer too. It takes him a minute to realize she’s wearing a soft rose lipstick instead of the bright red he’s more familiar with.

At the counter, he fumbles through his order, giving them Derek’s first because he’s so used to picking up coffee for both of them, then having to correct himself to the latte he actually wants to drink.

While he waits for them to steam the milk, he goes over and stands beside Lydia.

“Hey,” he croaks.

She smiles up at him, with something like regret. “Hi, Stiles.”

“You look good.”

“Thank you,” she says, and then looks over his shoulder as they call some name that must be his, cutting the awkward tension.

He turns, steels himself as he grabs the cup, then makes his way back to her and sits.

“How’s the internship going?” he asks, because he figures that checking in is what you should do when you’re reconnecting with the love of your life. He’s curiously blank of any more specific questions or observations.

Lydia crosses her legs primly at the ankle, the only sign she’s nervous, as well. “Good. How was your summer?”

“Good. Relaxing.” He looks at his coffee cup and snorts, grabbing his phone to shoot a quick snapchat for Derek. “Jeeze, Spires. That’s not even a name,” he chuckles, tagging the photo with a church emoji and about twelve question marks before sending it off.

Lydia seems a little put out when he looks up, or maybe just surprised. Stiles realizes it’s probably the first time he’s texted someone else when he’s with her. He hurriedly stuffs his phone back in his pocket, even though he's itching to see Derek's inevitable ‘wtf’ expression reply.

“Who were you texting?” she asks.

“Sorry, nobody. A friend. It’s an inside joke we have,” he says, gesturing vaguely at the incorrect name on his cup.

“Ah, right,” she smiles, nodding to herself. “That’s actually what I wanted to say, too. I uh, met someone. While I was abroad. His name is Jordan, and we’ve been going out for about a month. I thought you should hear it from me.”

“Oh.” Stiles waits for the crushed feeling of rejection, but it doesn’t really come. In it’s place there’s only a sore sort of wistfulness, lump in his throat for the _might have beens_. He looks down at his cup, and realizes that the jealousy he does feel isn’t for the guy she’s with now so much as the idea of being happily coupled. Honestly, in the back of his mind he’s come to accept that they aren’t ever really getting back together. That was the weirdness.

It seems like Scott was right after all. He’s been clinging to an idea more than a person, and has been for a long time. He’s been caught up in the fever dream that he, like his dad, was meant to be with his highschool sweetheart. But honestly, and Lydia _aren’t_ fated to be together just because he thought she was hot and smart in high school, or because he chased her to college and finally wore her down into giving him a shot for a couple years. It stings, but he knows he can get by without her. Maybe eventually he’ll find the person he’s truly meant to be with. And in the meantime, Derek will buy him a drink tonight and let him bitch, so it could be worse.

“I’m sorry,” Lydia says softly, looking more vulnerable and genuine than he can remember her ever seeming for him, even when they were together.

He shrugs. “Ah, it’s okay. I’ve had a summer to come to terms.”

“I’m glad,” she says. “I really do like you as a friend, and I hoped we could try to make that work.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Stiles agrees, smiling. “So in that case, am I gonna get more details about the internship than ‘good’?”

Lydia laughs, and happily digs into the specifics of what she was working on. Talking with her is easier without the weight of their One True Love hanging over everything, but she's still his ex and he plays up how much fun (and casual sex) he was having over the summer. He does have pride, after all. Frankly it’s not that hard to make his summer seem amazing, because he _did_ have fun, and he _didn’t_ pine half as much as he thought he was going to.

“So _Derek_ ,” Lydia says after Stiles caves and explains the who and why of his text. “Have to admit, I’m a little surprised to hear he’s your boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Stiles sputters, feeling his face go strangely hot. “We’re just… it’s not like _that_ . I just explained, I’m not _with him_ with him.”

Lydia looks unconvinced. “Right, you just talk about him all the time, snapchat him in jokes, and apparently spend all summer fucking.”

Stiles laughs, nervous and uncomfortable. “Well, yeah. But we’re not hashtag lifegoals or epically romantic or whatever. Just because we have hot sex and hang out and talk all the time, and y’know, enjoy some of the same stuff… that doesn't mean we should date.”

Lydia raises her eyebrows. Stiles gulps down a mouthful of lukewarm latte and very purposefully doesn’t have any revelations.  “Neither of us is really looking for something serious right now,” he reminds himself.

Lydia takes a long even sip of her own drink, dabs at her lips. “Oh, I see. But if Derek does decide he’s ready to get serious, you're totally fine?”

Stiles shrugs. “I mean, sure. Why…”

“Serious with someone else,” Lydia clarifies.

“Hurffflg,” Stiles goes, doubling over and literally grabbing the table for support because when she said ‘serious’ he was half imagining Derek getting serious with _him_ , he realizes. He was thinking of them being official, going on proper dates that, in his imagination, look alot like the dates they already go on. And this other idea? The idea of Derek not being there, not being _his_ , going out with some fucking stranger? It’s worse than a suckerpunch to the solar plexus.

“Mmhmm,” Lydia says as if he’s just said something very insightful. “Yes, I see. That’s absolutely a “just fuckbuddies” noise.”

“Oh no-o,” Stiles moans, because the trainwreck of a revelation has unavoidably hit him now, despite his best efforts, and there’s no going back. It’s hit him hard: he _loves_ Derek, irrevocably, from all the quirky, little specifics right on up to the shape of his soul. Stiles doesn’t want to keep his feelings out of it at all, he wants first anniversaries and valentines and fancy dinner and ideally to do this forever.

Except for, of course, the part where Derek doesn’t want any of that, period. Much less with Stiles.

 

* * *

 

 

By the end of the week, though, the freaked out feeling has mostly simmered down to a nervous excitement. Who knows, maybe this won't end in disaster. It's Derek after all. They've both promised each other so many times they'll be cool no matter what happens, right? He doesn't let himself think of the other promises, just as frequent, that they'd never bring feelings into it.

He starts off with a fairly neutral text to Derek - he found a wolf themed mug at Target, Derek likes wolf stuff, that’s excuse enough for them. But the exchange doesn’t quite take off. Even though it’s a Saturday, Derek’s responses are slow and short. It gets forced and one-sided pretty quickly. Possibly the guy’s just busy, and that’s why he’s not as chatty as usual. His work can sometimes spill into the weekend, after all.

Undeterred, Stiles brings up his plans to see Wonder Woman with Scott on Sunday, trying to get Derek to commit. If they see each other in person, he’ll be able to get a read on the potential for more, and anyways he really does want to see Derek and Scott hang out. He wants to be sure they’ll get along. Overall, it seems like a good plan.

But Derek, uncharacteristically, hedges. Usually he knows if he’s busy or free and says so. Stiles swallows back panic.

 _Come on come on,_ he texts. _You love_ _Wonder Woman._

_Not sure._

_Fiiiiine_ , Stiles texts, hoping the bitterness comes through loud and clear. He bites his lip, winces, and then types out plan B. _You working this weekend?_ He’s guessing Derek isn’t, or he’d have already said. He doesn’t like to text when he’s busy, claims he can’t multitask.

_No._

_So you’re not busy now? Can I come over?_

A painfully long pause follows. Stiles stares at the little grey bubble that lets him know each time Derek types and deletes. What is he typing? Why is it taking so long? Oh man, Stiles must be seriously gone if he's wigging out this much over a text that isn't even sent yet.

 _Sure,_ Derek finally responds.

That’s worrisomely short for such a long decision making process, but Stiles tries not to read too much into it. They’ll talk in person and resolve whatever weirdness this is, assuming it’s not just in Stiles’ head as he half suspects it might be.

It takes barely any time at all to get to Derek’s loft; It’s in a central part of town, a big open airy space with amazing light.

“Aayy,” he says when Derek opens the door, sidling into the apartment.

Derek nods a welcome, and even at that Stiles’ heart is going double-time. God, he even loves the way Derek decorates: the minimal furniture contrasting with the busy, eclectic bookshelves. He loves how comfortable the leather couch is, perfect for extended Netflix and chilling. He has no idea how he went for months without realizing the basic and obvious fact that he’s in love. Honestly, he’s so gone he could wax rhapsodic about the guy’s _couch._ How could he have been so stupid?

He’s still not sure exactly how he’ll find the words to ask Derek to go steady in a way that precludes any possible form of rejection. It might actually be the case that he _can’t,_ and he’ll need to ask in a way that makes him vulnerable. But then, if that’s true, at least he’s asking Derek. He _trusts_ Derek.

“What’s up?” Derek asks, a Stiles throws himself down on the couch like he lives there (for the past month he basically has), and only then does he take in Derek’s cool tone and crossed arms.

He goes instantly tense. Oh Fuck. Fuck him, Derek has somehow sensed what’s happened. He knows that Stiles wants more, and he’s already annoyed. He’s going to let him down easy, or judging from his stormy expression, not so easy. Stiles can’t breathe. “Not much?” he squeaks. Then he freezes his smile in place and waits like an animal in the headlights for the hammer to fall.

“How was coffee with Lydia?” Derek asks. He hasn’t moved to sit down on the couch like Stiles hoped he would, and is instead looming above the couch with his arms still crossed.

“Huh? Good, good. Yeah. Catching up, you know, good stuff,” Stiles blabbers, putting off the inevitable for just a bit longer.

“Great,” Derek snaps. He still seems weirdly angry, but not actually mad at Stiles so much as some indefinable thing in the air - or maybe himself. Stiles squints. In what world does that make sense?

“Why are you pissed?” he asks, because it’s a question that occurred to him and one that Derek can answer, and he and Derek have gotten pretty used to honest, instant communication.

“I’m not pissed,” Derek snaps, pissily.

But Stiles knows it's a lie. Derek’s more than pissed, actually. Stiles has his expressions so well pinned that he can recognize now that Derek’s upset. Really upset, like how he gets when people are dismissive of a charity he cares about, or when he remembers something about how Kate treated Cora. He’s honestly hurt right now about something, and he’s lying to Stiles about it. Because... What? Because Stiles went to coffee with his ex?

“Are you jealous?” Stiles blurts, because mind mouth filter? Not something he has, apparently.

“No,” Derek says quickly, implausibly. He closes his eyes and sighs, looking so beaten down and defeated it hurts Stiles’ heart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… it’s fucking stupid.”

“No, no,” Stiles says, and Derek looks up with a cautiously hopeful quirk of his eyebrows. “I mean, I’m a fucking delight why wouldn’t you be into me,” he laughs loudly. Because, he’s suddenly realized, that’s what this is. Derek is jealous of Lydia because Derek likes him, likes Stiles. Derek didn’t mean to break their agreement, _but he did_. They both did. Derek likes him! Okay, and maybe that idea’s got him a little hysterical, because now Derek just looks confused.

“You’re not mad that I...? Our agreement was…”

“Over and done, forget about it. We have no agreement,” Stiles says quickly.

“Oh,” Derek says, crushed.

“Woah, wait, no-no-no,” Stiles says, stumbling up and over to Derek, reaching out to comfort him as instinctively as if it was his own pain. “We have no “just boning, no feels, never get together” agreement, so let’s make a new agreement about absolutely getting together, and having all the feelings! And hopefully also boning!”

“What,” Derek says flatly, barely seeming to register Stiles’ hands cupping his face.

“I love you,” Stiles says. “I should probably have led with that, sorry.”

“What?” Derek says again, but he starts to smile, wide and hopeful like a big ray of sunshine pointed right at Stiles’ face.

Stiles laughs with relief. “Yeah, like, I love you an insane amount. I'm still really hung up on the you like _me_ thing, actually.”

Derek, whose expression looked like a beam of sunshine when Stiles finally confessed, has mellowed out to a full on fondness. “Of course I do. You’re a fucking delight, remember?”

“I’m a delightful fuck,” Stiles corrects, giddy.

“That too,” Derek agrees, angling his hips towards to Stiles and tugging him closer with a hungry smile.

Stiles is grinning too, so hard his face hurts. “Yeah?” he whispers.

“Yeah, “ Derek confirms, and finally closes the last little bit of distance between them for a kiss.


End file.
